Page 23 of One Night Flame

He pressed one last kiss to my skin, and then moved up, bracing his forearms on either side of my shoulders, his eyesdark and focused and hungry. “Good. Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”

Then he nudged my knees apart and gently eased me back onto the bed.

Cord slid my underwear down with aching deliberateness, his eyes never leaving mine. He didn’t rush, didn’t speak—just watched me as if unwrapping me was his new religion.

Then he settled between my thighs like he planned to stay awhile. Like this was where he lived.

“Cord—” My voice broke on his name, already raw from the first climax. “I don’t—I’m?—”

He just smiled. “I know.” And then he lowered his head.

The first brush of his mouth against me made my hips jump, everything inside me going taut and electric. I was still sensitive, still trembling from the first time, but that didn’t stop him. He kissed me like it was a language. Like he was fluent in every gasp I gave him.

I clutched at the comforter, knuckles going white, back arching.

There were no coherent thoughts left in my head. Just fire. Just rhythm. Just him.

His tongue moved with wicked intent, slow at first, then with growing confidence as he read every gasp, every twitch. He slid one hand up to anchor me, palm flat against my stomach, holding me right where he wanted me.

I couldn’t breathe.

Pressure built again—hot and impossibly deep—and this time, it didn’t crash over me so much as consume me inch by inch. A slow burn that turned molten and bright, until I was sobbing out his name and dissolving under his mouth, shaking and helpless and completely his.

He didn’t stop right away. Just eased me down gently,coaxing every last ripple of pleasure until I was boneless and wrecked beneath him.

I blinked up at the ceiling, chest heaving, body limp.

Cord kissed the inside of my thigh and murmured, “Still with me?”

Barely.

But I nodded. Because somehow, I still wanted more.

Cord kissed his way up my body, unhurried and reverent, as if I were something to savor instead of conquer. His mouth brushed my hip, my belly, then the aching swell of my breasts—slow circles of tongue that made me gasp all over again. By the time he reached my mouth, I was already reaching for him.

I wanted to touch him. Needed to.

My fingers found the buttons of his shirt and made quick work of them, and when I pushed it off his shoulders, I had to stop and stare.

He was… mouthwatering.

All lean muscle and heat, the hard cut of his chest and arms making it abundantly clear that firefighter was not just a title, it was a lifestyle. My palms skimmed across his skin, mapping every ridge and hollow like I could memorize him by touch alone.

He hissed through his teeth when I dragged my nails lightly down his abs.

“That okay?” I asked, already breathless again.

Cord’s laugh was low and wrecked. “You keep doing that, and I’m not gonna last long enough to impress you.”

My hand dipped lower, stroking him over his jeans. The groan he gave was raw, hungry, honest. Like he hadn’t expected to feel this undone. That sound curled something low in my belly, gave me the courage to unfasten his pants and push them down along with his boxers.

And then—God help me—I had to look.

Because he was gorgeous.

Hard, thick, already flushed. I curled my hand around him, slow and firm, and Cord’s whole body jolted.

He dropped his forehead against mine, his breath ragged. “Jesus, Lucy.”

---